I know later she would break that promise. But I know after that, she did everything in her power to make it right. And that’s love, yes? Not being perfect, but working hard to fix your mistakes.
I had a mom, Juanita Baez, and she loved me.
I had a sister, Lola Baez. I was three years old when she was born. I remember my mother bringing her home from the hospital and letting me hold her on the sofa. I remember thinking she was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. And I promised her then, from the bottom of my three-year-old heart, that I would give her the world, the stars, the moon at night.
I worked hard to keep that promise. But like my mom, I made some mistakes. And my beautiful little sister, she made some mistakes of her own. She chose to fall when she could’ve chosen to rise. She chose hate when she could’ve chosen love. She chose not to believe in our family at all, but to take up with some gang in our place.
But when violence came into our home, when she knew what was going to happen next, she also chose to take our little brother into her arms. She held him close. She tucked his face against her chest so he would not have to see his own death.
In that instant, she chose our family again. And she was the sister and daughter we all knew she could be. And that’s love, yes? Not making all the right decisions all the time, but being there when it matters the most.
I had a sister, Lola Baez, and I know she loved me.
I had a brother, Manny Baez. I was seven years old when my mother brought him home, and I was already scared for him. My mother liked to drink a lot by then. Her new boyfriend, Hector, drank as well. I took care of my little sister, and now I would have this baby, too. But the first time Manny gripped my finger with his tiny hand and looked at me with those dark eyes, I knew I would love him forever, and I promised him the world, the stars, the moon at night.
In return, Manny offered smiles and laughs and pure joy from the bottom of his little-boy heart. He was the light of our lives, and nothing that happened next ever dimmed the strength of his devotion to us.
And that’s love, yes? To give generously, selflessly, endlessly. Manny didn’t have to learn any lessons during his nine years with us. He was our teacher instead. A reminder of what the rest of us could achieve, if only we could open up.
I had a brother, Manny Baez, and he loved me so, so much.
I had a friend, Mike Davis. We met when we were eleven. He saw me when no else did. He tried to help me when no one else could. He called me a bright, bright light when I have only ever felt like the ugly stepsister, lost in the shadows.
He would’ve loved me, but I never let him.
He killed for me. He took away the boy who once hurt my sister and me. But he also took away the family who loved me.
He died for me. Opening his mouth, drinking in the pepper spray. The boy with no parents, the boy who’d always been alone, he didn’t believe I would forgive him. He didn’t understand that I, of all people, know love is imperfect, and it’s the trying that matters.
I had a friend, Mike Davis, and I killed him.
I have two dogs, Rosie and Blaze. They are old and blind and prefer long days spent napping in sunbeams. They thump their tails when I approach. They rest their heads on my lap and let me stroke their long silky ears. They provide solace on the days I can do nothing but cry. They give me strength, because I know they remember our family, and miss them, too.
I have friends. Flora, Sarah. I am still getting to know them. They understand pain and loss. They tell me I won’t always feel like this. They remind me that I have the strength to survive. They promise that one day I will learn to live again. They have introduced me to other people who know what it’s like to not be able to sleep at night. And sometimes, talking with all these other crazies, I feel almost sane again.
I have a guardian, Hector Alvalos. Manny’s father, my mother’s former boyfriend. He lived with us when Manny was born, and once he was the closest thing to a father I’d ever had. He had to go off to fight his own demons for a while. And yes, he’s made his share of mistakes.
But he came back. And that’s love, yes? He returned for Manny, and to make peace with my mom, and to get to know my sister and me again. Now, he and I are family. We live in his little apartment with Rosie and Blaze and so many pictures on the wall. Manny when he was first born. My mother twirling happily in her new red dress, the day she brought us home from the courthouse. Lola rolling her eyes at something silly. All of us piled together on a sofa.
Captured moments to help Hector and me through the bad nights. Frozen images to remind us of the good times.
These photos of our perfect family.
Acknowledgments
People always ask me about where I live. Yes, it is a small New England town in the mountains of New Hampshire, with a red covered bridge, white steepled church, and stunning views. Postcard perfect, I believe is the term. It’s also filled with some of the nicest, most interesting people on the planet, and for the making of this novel, I’m indebted to quite a few of them.
First off, Darlene Ference. After retiring from teaching, she decided to get involved with CASA as an advocate for children. Then she made the mistake of telling me all about it at a neighborhood barbecue. I’ve always been fascinated by CASA and the great work the volunteers do on behalf of kids. Immediately, I wanted to understand more, which, of course, led to this novel. Roxy’s story is entirely fictional and not based on any particular case, and yet much of what happens to her family isn’t atypical. My deepest appreciation to Darlene for sharing her experiences, and to all the CASA volunteers for their hard work and dedication. Please know that any mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Next up, Lieutenant Michael Santuccio with the Carroll County Sheriff’s Office. Over the years, Lieutenant Santuccio has become adept at handling my numerous and often bizarre texts. Hey, would you consider a missing teen a suspect or a victim? Would you launch a search for missing dogs? And of course: If you wanted to stage a shooting to look like a suicide, what would you do? Thank you, Lieutenant Santuccio, for once again helping make my fictional crimes sharper and, of course, enabling Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren to always get her man. Again, any mistakes are mine and mine alone.
My deepest gratitude to Dave and Jeanne Mason. At a fund-raiser to support our local animal shelter, they bid high and bid often to win the right to have their Brittany spaniels, Blaze and Rosie, included in this novel. Both rescues, the dogs are now living out their days in canine bliss with two of the nicest people. Thank you, Dave and Jeanne, for all you do for our community. And, Rosie and Blaze, congrats again on your forever home.
Which brings us to Kiko, D. D. Warren’s new dog. The best spotted dog in all the land, Kiko was the beloved pup of Conway Area Humane Society’s executive director, Virginia Moore, and her partner, Brenda Donnelly. Sadly, Kiko passed away last year, but tales of her love, loyalty, and mischievousness live on. Virginia and Brenda, hope you enjoy Kiko’s new adventures in fiction.
Locals will also recognize the name of coffee barista Lynda Schuepp. Thank you, Lynda, for your support of our local child service agency, Children Unlimited, Inc., and hope you feel the buzz.
Some readers may have recognized the name Anya Seton, who in real life was one of the great Gothic novelists and one of my all-time favorite authors. Yes, this was my homage to a brilliant writer. For those of you unfamiliar with her works, I highly recommend Green Darkness.